Why Are All the Anorexics So Beautiful
by Luna Maria Boulevardes
Summary: If she was beautiful, someone would finally love her. Anorexia, eating disorders.


_Why Are All the Anorexics So Beautiful_

_By L. M. Boulevardes_

* * *

1.

So now your best friend has abandoned you, leaving you the only one in your anorexia club.

_Fantastic. _

2.

Fine, that's a lie.

Angela was never in you anorexia club. You did it all by yourself, thankyouverymuch, just like you've done just about everything else in your life. Your brother was useless, your parents down right ruinous, so you've done everything all by yourself and aren't you proud? You went to school, studied hard, and had sex when you felt it was time to "address a biological urge", because it was all _logical_, after all.

You were good at smiling coyly at boys, better than you or anyone would have ever guessed. Oh they fucked you, and you liked it. In the moment, anyway. They wanted your number. They wanted to fuck you again. But you didn't want a fuck buddy, you just wanted a one-night stand. You gave them know last name, and not even your real first name. You never let them come to your place, and always left before they woke up. Sometimes you left as soon as you finished, flexing the muscles down there and feeling the last shudders of your orgasm. Because you didn't leave without having an orgasm; of course not. That would defeat the purpose of going out in the first place.

And it doesn't matter that you have no friends, no boyfriend, no family. Because you're Temperance Brennan, and you're brilliant, and everyone knows it. You write books, and dissertations, and you're the darling of every professor at your school. They lust after you, trembling when you speak for the pleasure of your red lips and the pleasure of your pink mind. And you smile, and you fuck them on their desks while whispering in their ears your theories on tribes in Africa. Because sex is not a spiritual act, and there's nothing wrong with using it as a means to an end.

Right?

3.

If you hadn't been so careless, this wouldn't have happened like this.

But you were careless. You've been very, very careless. And when you decided that you should push your body to the limits just for the fun of it, you didn't know what you were doing (except for the fact that, let's be honest here, you really did). And you think, _well, at least now it matches my mind. _

Every part of your body hurts from the endless working out, from the way your bones try to shove themselves through your skin. You writhe at night sometimes, and tell yourself that you're strong, and this is proof of your strength. You grit your teeth and close your eyes, and tell yourself that this is proof that you are strong.

(because you feel weak all the time.)

No matter how bad it gets, if you can just hang on to this though, everything will be okay. Besides, if eating disorders are bad –

Why are all the anorexics so beautiful?

4.

Angela left you all alone in your anorexia club.

You want to hate her. You want to hate Booth. You want to hate the whole world, and you want to cry. But the only thing that makes you cry is the fat covering your ribs, and the sallow color of your skin.

_Please eat something_, she whispers one late night, and then everyone stares at you over Chinese food. You want to say _I can't, because they're sodium in this, and I have to weigh myself in the morning, and if my weight is up I'll die. _But you don't say that. You just stare at her, uncertain for once in your life.

_Please eat something_, she whispers again later, when you two are all alone in your office, and she's hugging your tiny-fat frame so so tightly. _Please,_ she whimpers, and a hot tear falls on your lap and stains your jeans.

_I'm trying_, you say shakily, scared because all of a sudden it seems like you might cry too, and you don't know how to handle that. And she hugs you, and you're both on the ground, and you're shaking like a leaf. _I don't know how to, _you try to explain. And your heart is beating so fast, and you wonder if you just escaped death or if you're going to die anyway.

_Please,_ Angela says again, and you want to accuse her, to yell and scream because of what she did to you. But you don't. You lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling, and you're still doing that ten minutes later when Booth comes in to smooth your hair, and cry a little when it comes away in brittle pieces.

And it's so hard, and they don't even understand it. Because you always thought that if you could figure out what it took to break you, you might finally figure out how to unbreak yourself, and be okay (not that you were ever really okay). It seems like you're always hungry, and like there's never any food. But maybe if you were beautiful, you would finally feel okay, because everyone loves beautiful people.

Right?


End file.
